


Pop Psychology

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney's not sure about the changes to the team make-up. It takes him a while to figure some things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pop Psychology

"Have you talked to Laura lately?"

Rodney crossed his arms and leaned back into the plushness of his chair. "Yes, yes, everything's fine and good. Last night, we even exchanged our deepest secrets while braiding each other's hair and toasting marshmallows. Can we drop Cadman for a while? It's not like she's the only thing in my life."

"All right." Heightmeyer sat forward, crossing her wrists over her knees in a way that made her assets...appreciate. Rodney swallowed and forced himself to meet her eyes. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the million and one ways I'm likely to die in the next week? Maybe the fact that one of my teammates went crazy and tried to kill me? Oh, I know. How about the fact that I've got a new team member, someone whose very important role is to save my life at critical moments, I might add, and for all we know he might be a serial killer?"

Her eyebrows went up, all elegant surprise on her otherwise poised face. He wondered how much of it was an act, and how much was just her. He hoped it was an act; placidity like that belonged on the brain-dead or pot-smoking hippies, neither of which he found reassuring.

"New team member?"

"Yes, ignore the important parts like the danger to my well-being," he muttered. "I would have thought that you'd have already heard about everything going on around here."

Heightmeyer smiled wryly. "People don't tend to gossip with their shrink," she said.

"Huh." That made sense, he supposed.

"You were telling me about your new teammate," she prompted softly.

"Right. Sheppard got Elizabeth to let him add Dex." Rodney snorted; they were probably off exchanging war stories and tales of the Wraith right now.

"Ronon Dex? The man you brought back from the planet where you encountered Lieutenant Ford?"

Rodney nodded and rubbed his hand on the slick polyester of his pants. He still got all clammy and queasy whenever he thought about that mission, the way Ford had stared at him after the gun had gone off, betrayal changing into hate so fast his adrenal glands couldn't keep up. "Yes, him."

"I wasn't aware that he'd been cleared for duty."

He shook his head, half-smiling at the absurdity. "The colonel apparently decided that he was no longer a security risk and let him off the leash." _The colonel_. The word still felt odd in his mouth, like a sideways chunk of apple, the peel slicing between his teeth.

Her right eyebrow did the little Vulcan thing. "You think he's dangerous."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Of course he's dangerous. That's why Sheppard wants him on the team. The guy's a one-man army."

"But do you think he's a danger to you?"

Rodney frowned, trying to evaluate the data, trying to use the knowledge he'd gained after a year in the field. Dex always prowled around like he owned the place, watching everybody with a predatory gaze and a look on his face like he knew something nobody else did.

"Rodney?"

"He cut me down," he said, the words jumping out like they sometimes did when everything clicked into place.

"I'm sorry?"

"On the planet, after he fought off Ford. He cut me down out of the trap. Sheppard was chasing after Ford, he could have done anything to me then." Heightmeyer was cocking her head at him in that way that meant _good, now take it to the conclusion_ , which never failed to make him feel both pleased and condescended to all at the same time. "Fine. So he's probably not an axe-murderer. That still doesn't mean he should be on the team."

Heightmeyer sat back like she did when she'd had a revelation. Great. "Colonel Sheppard didn't consult you about it beforehand."

"No, of course not. Military, remember?" He shook his head. "It's not like I've seen him lately to be consulted, anyway."

"But you think he should have asked you anyway."

Rodney lifted his chin, bracing for her disagreement. "I don't think it's such an unreasonable thing to ask."

She shook her head, a quick smile sliding across her gloss-slick lips. "I don't think it's unreasonable at all."

"Oh, okay." He shifted in the chair, dropping his arms to the side as he glanced around the room. She didn't have a clock in here, but he couldn't help looking every visit, and every visit it drove him nuts. If he weren't here by his own volition, he would have stormed out in protest a long time ago. Fortunately, he was self-aware enough to know that would be rather silly.

"You said that you haven't seen Colonel Sheppard much lately. Is it possible that he's not aware of your concerns about Dex?"

Rodney shrugged. "It's possible."

"So maybe you should tell him."

He couldn't help chuckling at that. "Oh, that's a new one. Someone actually telling me to talk more about what's bothering me."

Heightmeyer didn't need to say anything. Her eyes were sharp electric-blue sparks–just like those on a cattle prod. He shifted on the seat again and checked his watch.

* * *

 _Maybe you should talk to him. Maybe you should discuss your concerns._

He felt like he was trapped in some new-age touchy-feely get-to-know-yourself exercise as he stalked down the corridors on his mission, but Heightmeyer wasn't a total moron, and with the notable exception of getting him to let Cadman out to play, most of her suggestions were actually helpful. To a certain degree, anyway.

Midday in Atlantis meant lunch rush, even though Elizabeth had politely encouraged everyone to stagger their breaks so the kitchen crew wasn't overwhelmed. John tended to eat late, but he wasn't in his office or the gym, and the jumper bay was full. If he wasn't in the cafeteria, Rodney was chucking the whole crazy idea in the garbage and getting back to his very important research.

The room itself was fairly crowded, as he'd expected, but with the balcony doors open, letting in the sun and a fresh breeze off the ocean, it wasn't nearly as noisy as it could be. He almost grabbed a tray and got in line, but Myers was up there. She'd pull Rodney into some discussion needing his brilliance within thirty seconds if he got too close.

Instead, he pushed his way past Grenier and Everson, gossiping in the aisle; and sure enough, there was John at his usual table, tray more full than empty. Rodney rubbed his hands in anticipation; maybe he wouldn't have to go through the line after all. He smirked and started towards John's table.

He pulled up short when Dex slid in across from John, frighteningly graceful for such a big man. His tray was piled with enough food to make Rodney worry about a shortage, and he was already stuffing it into his mouth like a starving man. John laughed at something, a low chuckle that carried through the background noise and seemed to reverberate through the soles of his shoes. Dex grinned, something large and green stuck between his front teeth.

Rodney turned and pushed his way back out the door.

He spent the rest of the afternoon arguing equations at the whiteboard with Radek, managing to smear red dry-erase marker all over his shirt sleeve at some point. At least it didn't look like blood, but he was going to have to do laundry ahead of schedule. He was grumping his way toward the cafeteria to finally get something more than coffee and a PowerBar when John stepped out of his office right in front of Rodney.

"McKay," John said, lazy tones matching the slow grin. "Long time, no see."

"Yes, well, some of us have had more important things to do than play tour guide," he said. John gave him the narrow-eyed glare that meant _you're full of shit and you know it, but I don't feel like getting into it right now_. Rodney cleared his throat. "Are you busy right now?"

"I was on my way for chow. You need something?"

"Just to talk, if that's alright?"

John nodded and stepped backwards, his office door shushing open just before he would have smacked against it. Rodney followed him in, waiting while John settled into one of his casual leans against the edge of his desk. The room was shadowy even with the lights on, though he knew it was brighter during the day. It was an odd-shaped room, so narrow and bland he would have assumed it was a large storage closet if not for the slatted windows.

"Rodney?"

"As you know, I've been meeting with Dr. Heightmeyer," he started, but John's eyebrows shot up.

"Are you still having problems because of Cadman?"

"Or I guess you didn't know," he continued after a beat. John gave him a _get on with it_ look, all crooked eyebrows and tipped chin, but his eyes were soft and worried. Rodney waved him off. "No, no, I'm past that. Just the usual neuroses and dealing with imminent death thing. Not important, I assure you."

"O-kay, so what are you trying to tell me?"

Rodney crossed his arms. "I don't think Dex is a good choice for the team."

All the worry and openness went out of John–tension snapping across his shoulders and jaw like a military salute. Rodney sighed. He knew this wouldn't accomplish anything.

"You don't," John said flatly.

"We don't know anything about him," he snapped back. "I realize that he's a good fighter, but that doesn't mean you should just arbitrarily make him our fourth."

Something dark and dangerous flickered through John's eyes, and Rodney almost flinched as he remembered the reason they needed a new fourth. John had dropped his efforts to find Ford–there wasn't much hope now, anyway–but Rodney knew that didn't mean he'd stopped thinking about the lieutenant.

"You don't know anything about Ronon," John said, skipping over the topic of Ford entirely.

Rodney nodded. "Yes, thank you, that's what I said."

John shook his head. "You don't know him. I've spent the past two weeks getting to know him, and he's a good guy. He's had it rough for a long time, so he's a bit rough around the edges, I get that. But don't write him off just because of that, Rodney. He'll be good for us."

He had no clue what to say to that. The sounds of the room seemed to beat against his ears as he stared at John, the air processors making a shushing whir-whir that made him think of slow ceiling fans beating in hot, dirty barrooms. John had been off bonding with the new guy all the while Rodney'd had his brain invaded–not to mention the terrifying but frequently-overlooked fact that he'd been taken by the Wraith and subsequently shot down.

"I see," he finally said, because really, there wasn't anything else to say.

John looked down, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "Look, Rodney. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about it first. I didn't think it was that big of a deal. How about we take a little test drive mission, go inspect one of the alpha sites or something and see how well he fits in? If you've still got a problem with him after that, then we'll talk about it, ok?"

"Really?" he asked, taken aback by the concession. Though really, he shouldn't have been, because John did listen to him as often as not.

John smiled, soft amusement back in his face. "Really. Now is that all? Because I'm starving."

His stomach growled in response to the suggestion, and John laughed. "I'll take that as a unanimous vote," John said, and Rodney grinned back.

* * *

The trip to the alpha-site was about as boring a mission as they'd ever experienced, with the added joy of a ten-mile forced march which John called perimeter inspection, but Rodney knew it was really their shake-down cruise. Dex never said much. He spent most of the time scouting, watching the trees and the sky like some big hunting dog. Rodney swore he'd even sniffed something that looked suspiciously like cow dung on one of his squatting inspections, but when he'd looked askance at Teyla and John, he'd been faced with twin looks of polite interest masking what he suspected was boredom.

It was a really boring mission, after all.

Worse, the only conclusions it left him with were that he really hated hiking–-which he already knew–-and that he had no room to complain about Dex. He should have kept his mouth shut for once and saved his knees the abuse.

He'd just gotten out of the shower and was heading off to the labs when his day got even peachier.

"Hey, McKay," she said, her tinny voice as jaunty as always. She grinned at him in a way that made him suspicious.

"Cadman," he said warily, trying to escape with a small smile and a polite nod. She simply picked up her pace so she could walk beside him.

"So, how's the dating scene lately? Last I heard, Katie was feeling a bit let down that you hadn't asked her out again."

He was so, so very right to be suspicious. He gritted his teeth and kept walking, trying to remember that she wasn't all that bad a person, and that he was happy that she was alive and well.

And thankfully out of his head.

"Aw, come on Rodney, don't give me the cold shoulder."

He stopped and spun to face her. "Don't you have something better to do than harass me about my love life?"

She smiled at him, a manic twinkle in her eyes that told him she thought she'd won something. "You should feel sorry for me. I'm up for mat hell."

"Mat hell?" he asked, his own natural curiosity getting the better of him.

Laura smiled and started walking again. "Hell," she repeated. "The colonel set up a rotation to train with Ronon on a regular basis."

"Ronon? As in Dex?"

She punched him in the arm–not at all lightly. Rodney glared at her as he rubbed the spot. "Do you know any other Ronon's? The guy's amazing, but it gets a little old getting the snot beat out of you over and over again."

"Huh," he said. "He trains you every night?"

"Well, not me personally, thank goodness. But he's been working with a group every night, as far as I know."

Amazingly enough Cadman stopped talking, and Rodney found himself following her to the gym. John had said Rodney didn't know Dex, and the mission hadn't been helpful in that regard at all. Rodney wasn't sure what he might learn from watching the guy beat people up, but then again, he couldn't imagine sitting down for a deep philosophical discussion with him, either.

Dex and a couple of Marines were already in the room, running through some kind of warm up stretch. Cadman dropped her stuff in the corner and joined them. Rodney glanced around, trying to pick a good vantage point amidst the boxing equipment and supplies that was far enough out of the way that he wouldn't get boxed himself.

He was surprised to see John in the back corner, leaning against a rather disturbing dummy of a male torso. John was watching the group on the mat, but he looked up when Rodney got within a few feet.

"Rodney," he said, smiling like they hadn't just spent most of an unpleasant day together. "Come to join in?"

Rodney snorted. "Hardly. Just call it data collection."

John nodded, still smiling, his expression open and a little goofy. Rodney could never resist that look. It reminded him of getting shot and being tossed off the balcony, of adrenalin surges that made his heart beat with excitement rather than fear.

"Cool. You're in for a show. Ronon's incredible. He's got this one move where he spins in the air and does this knife hand to the neck, knocks anybody flat like that," John said, snapping his fingers to illustrate.

"Right." Rodney nodded, then turned to watch the mat. Maybe it would be more exciting right side up, but he doubted it. He wasn't afraid for his life at the moment.

The exercise seemed to be starting, all of the Marines edging the padded area of the floor while Dex faced them from the center, holding a short, polished wood stick. There was a feral air to the man, a tiny smile on his face that seemed to taunt the Marines. One by one they minced forward, only to retreat back off the mat once Dex spun to face them.

Finally, Cadman launched forward, aiming a hard punch at Dex's kidney's. He whirled around before she could make contact, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into him. Rodney winced as he pulled her into a choke hold; Laura was still struggling, trying to kick Dex in the shins, but he evaded her easily. Another Marine darted in, but Dex simply flipped Laura to the ground and elbowed the new guy in the chin. Ouch.

He looked over at John, wondering if that was within bounds for a training exercise. John's smile had faded away, but he didn't look angry or horrified. Rather, he was watching intently, his eyes on fire as he took in every move. There was a magnetism about him, even though he was in full lean–elbow braced on the mannequin, left ankle crossed across the right, hand on his jutting hips. A living, breathing display of static principles, and Rodney suddenly had the urge to push against John in just the right spot to make him tumble.

He looked back at the mat. The marines were picking themselves up, rubbing their elbows, necks and shoulders as Dex started telling them what they had done wrong. Rodney turned back to John, who had started to smile again. He cleared his throat, and John's eyes flicked over to him.

"Well, Colonel, I need to get back to work. Have fun playing Mortal Kombat."

"Already, McKay? You haven't even seen half his cool moves yet."

Rodney grimaced. He could feel a headache coming on; he wondered if it was possible to be allergic to other people's sweat. "No, no, I think I've seen enough, thank you."

John looked disappointed for half a second before he nodded and returned to watching Dex. Rodney sighed and skirted around the edges of the room, feeling out of sorts for some reason.

 _When did you first notice the problem?_ The question echoed in his head, but Rodney was pretty sure Heightmeyer wouldn't be satisfied with something as pat as _when Dex first stepped through the stargate_. That was the problem with psychologists; they were never satisfied with anything you told them.

* * *

The epiphany came without flashing lights or blaring trumpets. He was simply sitting in the lab across from Radek, staring at the theoretical schematics for the ZPM, when all his discomfort and half-aware observations coalesced, leaving him with a sudden chill and a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach, not unlike the first time he'd emerged from the other side of a wormhole.

It was an absurd conclusion–so absurd that he doubted his own intelligence for an unprecedented couple of seconds. The schematics fuzzed in front of his eyes as he let them unfocus, reexamining the facts. A), US Military–-fact against. B), John was clearly interested in women. He flirted outrageously with every beautiful woman they met–-hell, he flirted with every woman they ran into. He'd go all soft smiles and throaty-voiced innuendo, spouting off outrageous lines and batting his eyelashes like some Southern Belle at her debutante ball. So, another fact against.

Except, C), Attraction to women didn't rule out the other, and D), John more-or-less acted the same way around the men they encountered. He wasn't as brazen–-more buddy-buddy than hot-to-trot-–but John was all charm whenever he smelled a potential audience; laughing, joking, inviting everybody in his radius to trust and like him. Gender didn't make a difference.

Rodney pushed away from the bench. Radek looked up, but Rodney waved him off. "Going for a walk," he said, then wandered out into the hall.

There was no way to know for sure–-unless he asked John, of course. But his intuition-–yes, thank you Elizabeth, he did have intuition-–was saying that he wasn't wrong.

Heightmeyer's voice was in his head again, some bad television parody of the superego, patiently asking _and what does that mean to you?_ Rodney shook his head. As John had so very bluntly said in the past, his love life wasn't any of Rodney's business. He wasn't a homophobe. The nausea he felt whenever he thought about the blatant way Sheppard ogled Dex–-well, that was simply concern about team dynamics. He'd feel the same way if John was interested in Teyla or Elizabeth.

The smell of hot grease and boiled vegetables-–something similar to brussel sprouts or cauliflower–-broke through his deep thoughts. Rodney glanced around, and sure enough, he'd ended up outside the cafeteria. He glanced at his watch-–a bit early for lunch, but eating now wouldn't throw off his schedule that much–-and got in line. The boiled vegetable turned out to be green and otherwise unidentifiable, but the grease turned out to be fried chicken, complete with reconstituted mashed potatoes. Excellent.

"Rodney, over here!"

John. Rodney took several deep breaths, told himself not to think about what he'd been thinking about, and willed his betrayingly fair complexion to cooperate for once. Then he turned around and headed toward John's table.

"Colonel."

"McKay," John answered, looking boyish as he grinned up at Rodney. "How's it going?"

"Oh, you know," he said as he slid his tray onto the table, thinking _don't think don't think don't think_ while trying to think of something to say. "The usual attempts to solve the mysteries of the universe. I haven't had any near-death encounters recently, so lots of energy to spend on the important stuff."

John chuckled as he dragged his fork through the last of his potatoes. "Yeah, about that. You didn't really say one way or the other what you think about Ronon."

Rodney froze with his chicken halfway to his mouth. "Uh, he's fine, I guess."

John beamed. Rodney took a huge bite of chicken to settle his stomach.

"Great. I was talking to Elizabeth about potential missions, and I think we've got a good prospect. If that's okay with you?"

"Fine," he said through his chicken. John looked so eager and happy, eyes shining at the prospect of taking his new buddy out and about. Rodney swallowed. "Whatever makes you happy," he said, far too seriously judging by the odd look John gave him.

"You sure?"

Great. Now John was worried about him. "Yes, I'm sure," he said. "Do you want your drumstick?"

John rolled his eyes, but thankfully, he passed the drumstick. Rodney set it to the side as he started in on his potatoes, watching as John scanned the room. He could guess who John was looking for.

The queasy feeling kicked in again. Rodney reached for the drumstick.

* * *

"Can I come in?" Rodney asked as soon as the door slid open. He didn't wait for John to do more than open his mouth, pushing past and stopping in the middle of the room. He glanced around quickly, taking in the changes that a few supply runs from Earth had wrought. John's tastes apparently ran to the 'whatever you can play with' school of design.

"Did you want something, McKay?"

He took a breath, hesitating briefly. He was pretty sure this wouldn't be Heightmeyer-approved, but she had encouraged him to share his concerns, after all.

"Look," he started, holding up his hand to stall whatever response John might have, "I know it's none of my business who you do what with, but I thought we'd established that romance shouldn't get in the way of the security of this mission."

John frowned, eyebrows squirming with confusion. "Excuse me? Is this about Chaya again, because I really don't get where this is coming from."

Rodney crossed his arms. He couldn't help it; he got defensive whenever the lying came up. "Not specifically, no. I'd just feel a lot better about the mission tomorrow if I knew that your decision to include Dex wasn't based on any...misguided feelings."

There went the eyebrows.

"You think I'm hot for Ronon?" John looked both disturbed and disbelieving.

Rodney sighed. "I wouldn't be so indiscreet as to say that in public, but yes, I had gotten that impression."

John stared at him blankly for a long moment in which Rodney had ample opportunity to wonder if the military stereotype was going to say hello with a fist to his face. Then he licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows like a crazy old man. "Ronon is a hunk, don't you think?"

"I knew it!" Rodney threw up his hands. "Your lecherous urges are going to get us all killed."

John laughed. "Relax, Rodney. Ronon's not my type. And you know, I don't know where you get off on accusing me of getting the team in trouble. You're the one who lost us the ZPM because you were trying to impress Allina."

Rodney glared, ignoring the embarrassing realization that he'd been way, way off target. "Two words. Non-corporeal alien-sex."

John glared back. "That's three words."

"Two. Alien-sex is hyphenated."

"Well excuse me, Mr. Picky Pants."

John smiled, Rodney smiled, it was all good, misunderstanding swept under the carpet like Rodney'd never opened his mouth.

John had to ruin it by frowning. "You really need to relax about this, Rodney. If it makes you feel any better, Teyla thinks Ronon will work out just fine."

Rodney sighed and dropped his arms. "Fine. Good. I'm relaxed."

John slapped him on the shoulder and winked. "I can see that. Now go get some sleep, would you? We've got an early start tomorrow."

Rodney nodded and left, heading back towards his own room. He actually did feel sleepy and relaxed, moreso than he'd felt in a long time. John's optimism was contagious, apparently. He was actually looking forward to getting off-world again.

* * *

So of course, their first real mission as a new team had to be a sequel to Escape from LA. Standing in the shower, scrubbing at all the dirt and grime that had amazing adhesive qualities, he wondered whether anyone had ever made a thorough investigation into Murphy's Law. It seemed like there might be intersections with Heisenberg's, but then again, maybe it would lie more with the scope of one of the fuzzy sciences.

He needed to move up his appointment with Heightmeyer. Some days, when things had been relatively calm and they could afford to focus on his lesser neuroses, he thought about dropping the sessions. Then something always would go horribly, terribly wrong. He didn't understand how everyone else lived with the constant terror, punctuated by occasional grief and anger, with exhaustion always under everything else.

Christ, they'd almost died again today, and he couldn't even count how many times within that short period they'd been in danger. That crazy fucker was going to make him fucking choose who to murder. He really, really hated it when people died.

Rodney shut off the water, squeaky clean at last, and grabbed blindly for his towel. He could still hear John saying they'd rather die than give up Atlantis. Could still hear the roar of the Wraith carrier as it entered the atmosphere.

But, hey. At least he'd found out that Ronon was a stand-up guy. Kind of crazy, but then they all were, weren't they?

He pulled on his boxers and a T-shirt. The bed looked tempting, but he was way too restless to actually sleep. So, jeans, socks and shoes, and he was out the door. Maybe he'd go see if Zelenka had gotten any further on the schematics.

He wound up in front of John's door.

John looked exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes and his hair wet and lifeless, but he stepped aside without a word. Rodney took the invitation the same way.

He wasn't sure what to do when he got in the room, though. They stared at each other in silence, John with a patient expression, like he had all the time in the world to wait on Rodney's whim.

"I, uh, noticed you limping earlier," he finally said. "In the gate room."

John nodded like that made perfect sense. "I banged my knee up a little in that last fight. No big deal."

"Oh, good," he said. "Good."

"Yeah," John said. "You okay?"

"Me? A little stiff from being tied up and dragged around all day, but I'll live." He snorted softly. "Carson, uh, Carson says my tooth isn't chipped. So no worries there."

John grinned. He dropped down on the bed and waved Rodney over. "I was so scared you were going to sue me for that landing."

"Ha, ha, very funny," Rodney said, shifting so he could see John's face better. "I'd should, just for that. The American government really isn't paying me what I'm worth."

"I'm sure nobody could pay you what your worth, Rodney." John's eyes were serious despite his teasing tone. His grin softened into an almost smile. "You did great work out there today."

If John meant to fluster him, he succeeded. "Yes, of course," he said a few seconds too late, a little too meekly for it to come off as anything but ridiculous. It wasn't that John never gave compliments. Rodney never got used to getting them, though.

The corner's of John's eyes were crinkled up with amusement, and the light was hitting his irises just right to bring out the green highlights. John wasn't really smiling anymore, but the corners of his lips were drawn up just enough to deepen the lines in his cheeks, accentuated by his dark stubble. Then he licked his lips, his tongue barely peeking out long enough to wet them.

Rodney swallowed, then cleared his throat as he realized they'd lapsed into silence.

"Rodney?" John sounded concerned.

He waved his hand at his head. "I should go. I'm starting to space out. No pun intended, of course."

John nodded. "Okay. Sleep well."

Slipping out the door felt furtive, like he was still trying to escape from something. It didn't help that he could hear Heightmeyer all the way down the hall to his room, her gentle tones repeating _what are you running from?_ until the words melted into a meaningless cadence that followed him into his dreams.

* * *

"I gave at the office," he shouted at his door. Really, was it too much to ask to have a little time of his own before something fell apart again?

"Open the door, Rodney."

John, sounding both impatient and amused. Rodney saved his file and crossed the room to let him in.

John held up a jewel case. "Somebody smuggled in a bootleg copy of the new Batman movie."

"Oh, excellent," he said. John let him take it without protest. "Have you watched it yet?"

"Nope. Thought maybe we could share."

"Now?" He turned back towards his desk.

"If you want. I wanted to ask you something, first."

Rodney turned back to John. He sounded–strange. Uncertain, maybe. Un-John-like. "Sure," he said, waving him on.

John rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the floor before he met Rodney's eyes again. "I was wondering why you thought I was interested in Ronon."

Damn John's stealthy military training, softening him up with presents before he dropped a bomb. There was no way Rodney was going to come out of this discussion well.

"Look, obviously I was mistaken. There's no need to dwell on it, is there?" He found he was rolling his fingers together nervously, so he clasped his hands behind his back. "And it's not like you weren't spending all of your time with Ronon, talking about him all the time, leaning..."

John raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching up with amusement. "Leaning, huh? I'll have to keep that in mind."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "So can we watch the movie now?"

John shook his head. "Nobody's ever implied that I'm gay, Rodney."

Rodney flushed. "Well, excuse me, Mr. Heterosexuality. I thought you were open-minded enough not to freak out about it."

"Nobody, that is, except guys who were trying to pick me up."

He was a genius–-he didn't need any time at all to catch John's implication. John didn't look amused anymore, or like he was trying to pull Rodney's leg. He looked deadly serious, but not edged and hard like he did during combat.

"Oh," Rodney said, because, wow, he really was dense after all. Because finally, there it was-–click, boom, flashbulb, a revelation to shame all epiphanies, a beam of shining light splitting the murkiness of the heavens. And in the center of that beam stood John Sheppard, staring back at Rodney nervously with his funky-colored eyes, sucking his full lips between his teeth, crossing his muscled arms protectively over the tight black T-shirt that showed off his pecs so well.

It took Rodney three tries to work up enough spit to open his mouth.

"Is that so?" he asked, and damn it, his voice had to crack, but John was nodding along like he'd just asked the most important hypothesis since Einstein had first wondered about the speed of light.

"Yeah," John said. "That's so."

"Oh, huh. That's very interesting." Rodney swallowed, then found some courage he'd forgotten he had. "So, uh, what happens after that? With the propositioning."

John lowered his arms and took a step forward. "That depends on who's asking."

That was the cue for his turn in the witty repartee, but Rodney couldn't think past the increasingly small space in his lungs and reverberating thud of his pulse in his ears. He swallowed again as John took another step, bringing them face to face, chest to chest.

"And if I were the one asking?" he finally managed.

John answered by spreading his warm hands across Rodney's chest, thumbs rubbing tiny circles just below his collar bone. That little touch was insanity–tickling frustration and spiking heat that shot down to his groin. Rodney leaned forward, pressed into John's strength. John moved his right hand up, slowly crossing the boundary between cloth and skin, running it upward across Rodney's neck, making him shiver.

John finally looked up from his own hand. Rodney couldn't say what color his eyes were right then, because all he saw was desire.

"John," he whispered, and God that felt so right, almost as right as John's lips brushing across his own. He pushed forward hungrily, wanting more. John's hand wound in his hair, his hands clutched at John's shoulders, their bodies pressed together as closely as possible...and wow, hello, that was John's erection shoving against his own.

"Rodney," John whispered into his ear, and that was hot, too. "You good with this?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," he whispered back, and then John stepped backwards, pulling Rodney with him until they ran into the bed. John sat down, staring up at Rodney, and slowly stripped off his shirt. "Oh, oh wow."

"Too fast?" John's brow crinkled as he reached for his shirt.

Rodney grabbed his hand. "No, it's good. I'm just caught in the _can't believe this is happening_ moment."

"I know what you mean," John said with a soft, sweet smile. Rodney rubbed his thumb over John's smile, stroked John's clean-shaven cheek with his fingers. John sucked Rodney's thumb into his mouth, sending a jolt of pleasure up to his elbow. He pulled his hand away from John's mouth, and bent down to kiss him again.

It turned hungry fast. John laid back, pulling Rodney on top of him. It was awkward, their legs off the edge of the bed, his back stretched uncomfortably, but it was so good he didn't want to move. He could smell John, aftershave and deodorant and something more, a smell that was so familiar to him--but he hadn't realized that fact until just now. He broke the kiss and pressed his face into John's neck.

John rolled them onto their sides. He pulled on the bottom of Rodney's T-shirt, so Rodney took the hint. He paused after he got it over his head, because John had sat up to take off his shoes. And pants. He'd never really thought about seeing another man naked, not consciously, anyway, but John was beautiful. Not overly muscled, but obviously strong, perfectly masculine.

"Come on, Rodney, your turn," John said quietly, still smiling. Rodney squirmed out of his pants, avoiding self-conscious thoughts by coming up with ideas to turn John's smile into something different.

Apparently, getting naked was enough, because the smile dropped away. Rodney could see John swallow.

"God, Rodney. I want–-" John cut himself off by practically diving onto him, rolling them dangerously close to the edge of the bed. Rodney would have protested, but he was busy kissing John and rubbing into his hot skin.

They got into a rhythm, John guiding from the bottom, his hands on Rodney's ass pulling them together. Their cocks were rubbing together haphazardly, but it was good enough, sweat slicking their bellies for a good slide. John's eyes were closed, his head thrown back, mouth open, breathy gasps and moans that Rodney never could have imagined escaping from his lips.

Then Rodney closed his own eyes, speeding up his thrusts as his balls drew up tight. John grunted and came underneath him, hot and wet everywhere around Rodney's cock. Rodney clamped his hands around John's shoulders, thrust hard one last time, and came.

Time seemed to fuzz out for few minutes. Rodney supposed he should have been slightly curious about the phenomenon, but laying on top of John after a really great orgasm seemed to have killed his curiosity. John was running his hand through the hair on the back of Rodney's head, almost petting him. It was incredibly soothing.

They laid together in silence for a few more minutes before any desire to talk returned to him. "So, you're not interested in Ronon, then?"

John's laugh shook through his chest and up into Rodney's, joining with his own.

* * *

Heightmeyer's office was at its perky best: bright sunlight filtering through the warm Atlantean glass, wildflowers jaunty and showy in a vase on her desk, a new Athosian wall hanging adding to the joyous atmosphere. Normally it would have been enough to make Rodney roll his eyes with disgust, but even her own natural perkiness couldn't ruin his mood.

"So are you still concerned about Dex?"

Rodney shook his head and held up his hands. "No, no, I was wrong about him, I admit it."

Heightmeyer smiled at him. "I'm glad to see you in good spirits. Your latest mission was rather harrowing, though, wasn't it?"

Harrowing, and they'd lost a puddlejumper. But they'd all come back alive, which was what mattered the most.

Plus, the other outcome had been more than satisfactory.

Rodney grinned at her. "I'd call it a learning experience."


End file.
